


So Close to Your Cure

by in48frames



Category: Bomb Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/pseuds/in48frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day of the wedding, Betty and Gladys lock themselves in Betty's room with a bottle of the cheapest liquor they could find. [Gladys & Betty, Gladys/Betty, Kate as an important but secondary character, and a sprinkling of Vera.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of three. Things get more fun and McWitham-y next chapter. :)

The day of the wedding, Betty and Gladys lock themselves in Betty's room with a bottle of the cheapest liquor they could find. It's been three months since Teresa left and ten months since James died. Sometimes they feel like the only people who get it, the only people who are as alone, and they certainly have a similar approach to this wedding. (That is: We are so happy for you, Kate, but we kind of want to kill ourselves.)

Betty pours the first drink and they down it in one by unspoken agreement. The next inspires a toast from Gladys: "To never ever getting married."

"Couldn't even if I wanted to," Betty replies, clinking her glass against Gladys's. They drink.

"To dead-end relationships," Betty offers up.

"Literally," Gladys replies. Clink. Drink.

"To being alone for the rest of my life," Betty says, the alcohol contributing nicely to her morose outlook.

"Hey," Gladys says, putting her hand on top of Betty's free one. "You'll always have me."

"Until you get married."

"What did I just say?!"

Betty pouts and Gladys hooks her arm around Betty's neck, pulling her head in to her chest. "I love you Betts. I swear you'll never be really alone as long as I'm around."

"Thanks," Betty says, muffled by Gladys's dress. She wraps her arms around Gladys's waist and they stay like that for a few minutes.

Wanting to be at least outwardly supportive, they stop at three (ish) drinks, though Betty takes her flask to the sink and fills it from the bottle. They're dressed, made-up, and they share a long sigh—a sad puppydog look across the room and a bolstering breath—before unlocking the door and heading out. Girls in the hall smile as they pass, and they smile in [return](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9214592/1/So-Close-to-Your-Cure), then link arms and put their heads together in commiseration.

They ride the streetcar to Leon's church. Betty has borrowed a dress _and_ a hat from Gladys and feels like a freakshow, but Gladys tells her she looks pretty with that little smile Betty can't resist.

The people on the streetcar smile at them too and Betty says in Gladys's ear, "Why is everyone but us so damn happy about this?"

"Just take it as a compliment," Gladys says absently, watching out the [window](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9214592/1/So-Close-to-Your-Cure).

"You would say that, Princess."

Gladys smiles at that, then frowns at Betty. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

Betty smiles too.

At the church they link arms again and enter slowly. Scattered over the pews are a couple handfuls of people, almost all of them instantly recognizable. They join Vera in the third pew; Betty and Gladys clasp hands and Vera joins in on the other side of Gladys. Betty leans forward, looks across at Vera who knows and sees all, and rolls her eyes. Vera squints and smiles back.

They wait, mostly in silence, and Betty's heart is in her throat. She squeezes Gladys's hand and Gladys squeezes back, and she wishes she could be anywhere other than where she is but she's grateful she at least has a hand to hold. This is really hard.

The door at the back of the church swings open and Betty's shoulders go up around her ears. Leon walks swiftly to the front, followed by Ivan in a borrowed suit. He glances at the gathered congregation but studiously avoids Betty's eyes, looking up at the stained glass windows behind her. Standing at the front of the church, he coughs and tugs at his collar, then nods at Leon.

The doors open again and from a corner unforeseen, the cheap tinkle of a stand-up piano cues the attendees to stand and turn. Kate is in the doorway, wearing her white gown, carrying a bouquet with no one to give her away. Betty smiles, painfully, knowing her brow is furrowed and she looks anything but pleased—she tries. Gladys keeps a hand on her elbow as they watch Kate walk herself slowly to the front of the church.

Kate's face is grave, yet when she is level with Betty she looks her way with a small smile and reaches out her hand. It takes every ounce of Betty's strength to keep smiling (though her teeth grind together and she can't be sure she doesn't more resemble a carnival mask) and to reach out instead of snatching her hand away. They clasp hands briefly and then Kate is past and joining Ivan at the altar.

As soon as the music stops Betty turns to Gladys, grabs both of her hands, and bows her head as they sit. She takes deep, slow breaths, and Gladys frees one hand to rub Betty's back. Then Leon begins to speak and they look up; Betty holds her head high through sheer force of will.

The ceremony is simple and brief—they don't speak their own vows and Kate requested a less elaborately religious service. Kate doesn't smile, and when Ivan slides the ring onto her finger she stares at it instead of looking at him. Their kiss is chaste, then they turn to the congregation and Kate does smile. It's her stage smile, Betty knows that much, but she can't do anything about it and just clutches Gladys's hand tighter.

There is a small reception in one of the church's gathering rooms—and small is being generous. A bowl of punch, a plate of cookies, and the radio. Kate's friends and Ivan's family stand in clumps, waiting to pay their respects to the couple. Betty leans against the wall, hands searching for pockets on Gladys's fancy dress, while Vera and Gladys get glasses of punch. Forming a huddle, they discreetly top up their glasses from Betty's flask, then go back to casually waiting around.

Vera is on the same page as the both of them: happy for Kate, miserable for herself. Well, not really miserable—it's Vera. They giggle and whisper and try to distract themselves; play the games they played as kids on long car rides.

When Ivan and Kate—Katie—come into the room, there's a smattering of applause, a hoot from one of Ivan's friends. They make their way slowly around the room, arms wound tight around one another, while Betty and Gladys and Vera make faces at each other and then shush each other's giggles.

When the happy couple are a few feet away, they pause and whisper to one another, and Betty and Gladys and Vera hush and watch them. Kate is saying something emphatically, and Ivan is shaking his head. The girls look at each other in curiosity, but soon enough the couple approaches.

"Thanks for coming," Kate says softly, making eye contact with each of them in turn; lingering only slightly on Betty.

"It's great you gals could make it!" Ivan says with his trademark exuberance.

Gladys says, "Of course, we're so happy for you. Both." She hugs Kate tightly, then kisses Ivan on the cheek.

Vera does the same (encouraging Ivan to be in his best form later tonight, wink), and then there's the briefest pause as Betty leans against the wall, before she pushes herself upright and smiles at Kate. Without a word, she hugs Kate and then pats Ivan on the shoulder. It's awkward, but what can you do, really.

Ivan makes a speech with Kate by his side; her smile is small, not her stage smile now, but somehow sad. They raise their glasses (filled mostly with non-alcoholic punch, ahem) and wish health and happiness on the new marrieds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of three. McWitham-y.

Finally it's within the bounds of politesse to leave, and Gladys, Betty, and Vera link arms as soon as they reach the street. Betty knows better now than to attract attention to herself, so she is discreet with her swigs from the flask, urges them to speak softly and laugh quieter. The fact that they can laugh at all is a testament to the liquor, and also Vera's irascible spunk. When she leaves them at the rooming house, Betty and Gladys climb the stairs as one, clinging silently as they process the reality of what just happened.

"I hope she'll be happy," Gladys whispers, and Betty can only shake her head. She's always been bad at speaking her feelings but right now she doesn't even want to think them; feel them.

As soon as they shut themselves in Betty's room, her hands go to her hat and remove the pin that has been poking her all day. She tosses the hat aside and with it the [cloud](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9214592/2/So-Close-to-Your-Cure) that has been dropping gloom all over this day of celebration. Her focus changes as she turns, becomes sharp; she takes several slow steps back to the door, easing Gladys back until Betty has softly pinned her to the door. Gladys leans her head back against the wood, looking at Betty with eyes wide and dark, but not surprised.

In the more than a year of their friendship, Betty has often noted Gladys's [beauty](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9214592/2/So-Close-to-Your-Cure), watched her in awe. Today, something has shifted. From this close, she studies Gladys again; her porcelain skin, her dark hair—and Betty raises her hand to run her fingers through a length of that hair, rubbing her thumb over the ends. She looks to Gladys's mouth, moves her thumb there to sweep over the soft bottom lip.

Gladys says, "Betty," on an exhale, and Betty raises her eyes to Gladys's. Hers are trained on Betty's mouth, though she looks up when Betty does. "You're drunk."

"So are you," Betty whispers. "And is this just terrible for you?"

Gladys half-laughs, arching her neck as she pushes back against the door. If the pressure of her body doesn't answer the question, Gladys says, "No, not terrible. I just don't want you to do something you'll regret." And if Betty ever could have walked away from this, called it a joke or a drunken blunder, she's in it now. She may be foggy from the drink but she knows what feels good; knows who she can trust.

Betty backs away, though Gladys makes a noise of disapproval in her throat, and draws Gladys into the middle of the room, holding up her hands as if to get a good look at her. "Princess, I don't see anything here I could possibly regret."

Another helpless sound from Gladys and she's stepping forward, pushing Betty back toward the bed until she's forced to sit. Gladys hikes up her gown, sits on Betty's lap, takes her face in her hands and says, "Are you sure?"

Betty wraps her arms around Gladys's back and kisses her, hard. Gladys responds equally and Betty braces her with one arm before twisting them on to the bed. With Teresa, Betty was the student, and gladly. She's more confident with Gladys, more competent, but she soon learns that Gladys doesn't accept power imbalances. With little fanfare, she draws up her knee and presses it against Betty, forcing a gasp that breaks them apart so Gladys can flip them around. She smirks smugly, all too pleased with herself, and Betty reaches down, pressing the heel of her hand against Gladys. It's her turn to inhale sharply as she tips her head back, her hair begging for Betty's fingers to be tangled in it. So she tangles them, pulling Gladys down for another kiss.

They fight like that, trading power back and forth, teeth and tongues occasionally clashing. It's mildly sloppy, considering their loose drunkenness, and Betty throws away a thought about _should've shown Gladys the best for her first time_. The truth, and Betty knows it, is she's going to give Gladys a hell of a ride… and vice versa, of course. Despite her history, Gladys is a quick study, and wears such a wicked little grin that Betty has to kiss it off her every time.

By the time they collapse, sated and mellowed, they look like little girls who got into Mummy's dressing room—hair mussed to oblivion and lipstick everywhere but their lips. Gladys laughs, using her thumb to smudge some of the makeup from Betty's cheek.

"Aren't we a mess," she says.

"Complaining?" Betty smirks.

Gladys slides closer, running her hand over Betty's neck and rubbing her thumb against that spot behind her ear. She kisses her softly, once and then again, and says, "Not on your life."

With a calm that feels almost like peace, they lie with their heads on the pillow, searching each other's eyes.

"Did you think this would happen?" Gladys asks eventually.

"Hmm." Betty runs her fingers through Gladys's hair again, and it slips through her fingers like silk—like how she imagines silk would be. "I can't say I'd never thought about it before," she says to Gladys's hair, eyes locked on her fingers, aiming for casual. "But I don't think I ever imagined it would really happen…"

Gladys rolls onto her back, keeping her head turned toward Betty. "I'm not so out of reach, am I?"

Betty huffs out a laugh, looking back in her eyes. "You're my best friend, Princess. Not out of reach, just… a little…" Betty smirks and cocks her head away. "…male-oriented?"

"Well!" Gladys says. "I can't argue with that. But," she trails her fingers over Betty's face and down her neck and back, making Betty shiver. "I pride myself on being open minded."

"And thank goodness for that." Betty grins, kisses her hard, and climbs on top again. They are still languid, so Betty just lies on top of Gladys while they kiss. It gives her all the right shivers, and Betty is glad they had a bit too much to drink today—though she feels astoundingly sober now. It makes sense, in a way, for them to come together like this; still it may not have happened in any other way.

Though they'd like to spend the night this way, it does happen to be getting late and they do have work in the morning, so they agree to sleep. It does take an agreement, and further restatements of that agreement, to make sleep actually possible.

There is none of the power struggle now, as they cling together in the bed. Stealing sleepy kisses is soft and affectionate, playful but not a game.

They fall asleep quickly, exhausted both emotionally and physically—and an outside observer would think they hadn't a care in the world, snug in their bed with faint smiles on their sleeping faces.

This might just be the right time for a story that seems so wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have slightly underestimated this story. This is part three of four (plus an epilogue). I just love them so much! Hopefully you do too.

In the morning, as they rush to get ready for work—no sleeping in for them, they spent their day off in a church—Gladys asks if they should have "the talk." Betty frowns, and Gladys clarifies: "I wouldn't want to hurt you by mistake."

Betty thinks for a minute while she buttons her shirt and checks her hair in the mirror. "I think, just tell me if you meet someone you could see having feelings for?"

"And in the mean time?"

The corner of Betty's mouth hooks up. "What happens, happens." She tries to sound blasé, shrug it off, but she looks to Gladys for approval. What she sees is a wicked little grin as Gladys crosses the room and slides her arms around Betty's waist.

"Meaning, options open?" Gladys leans forward, brushing Betty's cheek with her own, then twists to kiss Betty's neck.

Breathlessly, Betty replies, "It would seem silly not to."

"Mm," Gladys hums against Betty's neck. "Wouldn't want to do anything _silly_."

"I mean, wasting—" Gladys's kisses are nothing less than lascivious and Betty is having trouble focusing. "Wasting a perfectly good… opportunity…"

Laughing through her nose, Gladys rests her forehead on Betty's shoulder. "Oh Betty, dear, what a romantic you are. An _opportunity_." She shakes her head, still laughing.

"All right, give me a break. I've had a grand total of, what, two months in a relationship? I'm still learning. Not that this is a relationship," she adds hastily.

"Probably not," Gladys agrees.

"That being said…" Betty reluctantly disentangles herself and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands and crossing her legs. It's a pose she's perfected, full of confidence, but it still takes her a minute to get her thoughts in order. Gladys pouting across the room at her is not exactly helpful. "You know what happened to me and Teresa? On the street?"

Recognition dawns on Gladys's face and she stops pouting, coming to sit next to Betty on the bed. "Yeah, of course."

"Can we agree to keep this behind closed doors? Completely?"

"Of course, Betty!" Gladys is understanding but the tiniest bit… not hurt, but sad. "I would never do anything to put you in danger, not if I can help it."

"I know, Princess. But there's a lot we do without even thinking about it. As long as you're aware of it, I'm sure we'll be fine." Betty smiles reassuringly at Gladys, who has a stormy look on her face, and puts her hand over hers on the bed. "Come on, none of that. We really have to be leaving for work anyway."

Gladys turns her hand over, lacing her fingers with Betty's, and frowns fiercely one last time before smoothing her face and smiling at Betty as she stands up. "Here we go, day one."

"Day nothing. As far as the world is concerned, nothing has changed… aside from Ivan and Kate getting hitched." Betty makes a face into the mirror as she does one last check.

Gladys comes up behind her, ostensibly to check her own face but really to wrap her arms around Betty's waist and set her chin on Betty's shoulder. "It's still day one. And I'm happy."

Betty can't help but smile back and turns in Gladys's arms. "Don't you dare make us late for work on your oh-so-significant day one." It's an empty protest as she proceeds to wrap her arms around Gladys's neck and kiss her thoroughly.

Feeling very clever, Betty turns back to the mirror to put her lipstick on. "See, I knew better than to put this on too early."

"Go on then, Betty, with your two months' experience. Seems you know the lay of the land."

Betty smiles into the mirror at Gladys. "If there's one thing I know about you, Princess, it's not to expect anything, for I'll always be surprised."

"Just for that I would ruin your lipstick if it weren't for my high respect for the art of makeup." Gladys actually uses the mirror this time, putting on her own lipstick.

At the door a meaningful look passes between them—it says _don't ruin my lipstick_ and _time to face the world_ and _outside this room we are best friends_. Gladys holds Betty's gaze and nods, deliberately. Betty takes a deep breath and opens the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forget everything I said about numbers and parts. This story has a mind of its own and will end when it's good and ready to. I'm enjoying the ride; hope you are too.

At lunch, Gladys and Betty sit with Ivan and Kate—neither time nor money for a honeymoon, and Betty isn't thinking about it. They act normal—they think they do—but their legs brush and their eyes meet and their smiles are soft. The day after her unrequited love interest gets married, Betty isn't playing her part.

Later on, Kate catches Betty alone in the locker room. "You and _Gladys_?"

Betty glances over at her, nonchalant. "What about it?"

"It's you two against the world now—against us?"

Betty sighs and closes her locker, facing Kate. "We share the same loneliness, Kate. And you have Ivan. There's no reason for our friendships to change."

"But they have, haven't they?" Kate looks lost, alone, sad, and Betty has to talk herself into standing her ground.

"They were always going to, weren't they, Kate?" Betty says softly.

"I just… thought Gladys—" She breaks off and throws her hand in the air, turning away.

"I'm not trying to take her from you. I'm not trying to take _anything_ from you. But I need something of my own. I can't go on so lonely." It's all matter-of-fact but it's also most of her heart, and the lump in her throat stops her from going on.

Kate stares at her for a moment. "Gladys—she's…?" _Something of your own?_ Betty nods. "But… we're all still friends?" Betty nods again, looking vaguely miserable.

"Okay, Betty," Kate says softly. "I'll try. I want you to be happy too." That last comes on a whisper and they can't quite hug. Betty puts her hand on Kate's shoulder and Kate nods, then walks away.

* * *

Ivan and Kate leave the factory together now, heading to Ivan's one-bedroom. This leaves no one to watch as Betty misses her streetcar and walks with Gladys to hers instead. Anyway, they have a reason: Gladys wants to show Betty her new digs. That's approximately true.

They sit together on the streetcar, a little too close but keeping their hands to themselves; two factory girls on their way home, making light conversation. They're patient, and when Gladys's door closes behind them they come together like two magnets. Betty's arms go around Gladys's waist and Gladys's hands go to Betty's face. They kiss, not in a panic but softly, sweetly; not a year in the desert but eight hours, just enough to appreciate their time.

When the edge is taken off, Betty leans back and sighs.

"What is it?" Gladys asks.

"Kate."

For just a second, Gladys goes completely still, blank. Then, calmly, she says, "What?"

Betty cocks her head to the side, then snorts. "Not like _that_." Betty pushes at her shoulder playfully. "Don't be ridiculous. No, she seemed to catch on to something and she's worried—about our friendships."

Gladys's turn to sigh. "Oh, poor Kate. Should we have told her?" Betty makes an extremely incredulous face and Gladys laughs. "Okay, maybe not. Still, poor Kate."

"Poor newly married Kate living with her new husband?"

"Well, it's different with girlfriends. You know, before I started at the factory, I had James—" She makes a face. "—but I was longing for female connections."

Betty bursts out laughing at that and Gladys joins her. "You got all that and then some."

"Clearly. But the truth is these friendships have been more valuable than I ever could have imagined."

They've moved to sit on the edge of the bed, so Betty looks straight ahead when she says, "You don't think our friendship… Will we screw it up?"

Gladys looks ahead too and swings her legs, thinking for a minute. "Well, we can try our best to make sure we don't. It's too late to take it back now, so why waste time worrying when we could be enjoying?"

"You've got it down, Princess," Betty says, smirking.

At that Gladys jumps up and poses in front of Betty, saying, "And for visiting me at my lovely…" She looks around. "…temporary abode, you are lucky enough to receive a romantic—" She raises her eyebrows. "—candle-lit dinner courtesy of room service. Well, courtesy of me, via room service."

Betty grins. "All right then. It's a sight better than I'd be eating at the rooming house, I'm sure."

Gladys presents Betty with a menu and waits anxiously for Betty to make her order, hopping from foot to foot and prompting Betty to grumble, "What are you, a rabbit?"

Instantly, Gladys adopts her rich-girl poise, saying obliquely, "I've never shared a meal here."

Betty casts aside the menu and reaches for Gladys's waist, pulling her onto her lap and pressing her face into Gladys's neck. Gladys comes willingly but maintains her poise, putting one arm delicately on Betty's shoulder.

"It's a breaking in, of sorts," Gladys says primly, and Betty replies, "Of more than one sort, perhaps."

"We'll see," Gladys says coyly. "Be nice to me."

"I'm always nice to you," Betty says, the sound vibrations against Gladys's skin. "Just order me whatever you're having."

Gladys leaps to her feet, grinning, and Betty leans back on the bed, watching in mild amusement as Gladys makes a perfectly imperious-but-polite phone call to room service.

It'll be twenty minutes, so Gladys sidles back over to Betty. "What's that you were saying about breaking in?" and she reclaims her spot on Betty's lap.

"Oh, I thought you weren't interested in that."

"Don't be silly," Gladys murmurs, wrapping her arms around Betty's neck. "I'm _always_ interested in that." They kiss, and Gladys presses closer as they taste and delve into each other's mouths. There's so much to explore, even fully clothed and both hands above the shoulders. They lose themselves in it, and when a knock comes at the door it takes them a moment to separate, to wake back up to the world outside their two bodies.

Then Gladys is on, getting to her feet and heading straight for the mirror to make herself presentable. Betty does what she can with a little smudging and straightening, and Gladys opens the door. She is the consummate hotel guest (Betty assumes, having never in her life actually stayed in a hotel). She welcomes the porter gracefully, points to exactly where she wants the food, and—Betty is sure—slips the man a bill of some sort on his way out the door.

Betty gets up and saunters over to the table, taking in the setup while at the same time marvelling at the way Gladys switches seamlessly from one mode to the other.

"So this is how the other half lives," Betty says, hands deep in her pockets.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame the delay on the finale and trying my darndest to #savebombgirls. Google that if you aren't yet involved. :)

"You don't mind, do you?" Gladys gestures to the dinner with one hand and holds up a bottle in the other. "I did get us a little bubbly."

"Of course you did," Betty says fondly, nothing caustic in her tone. "The baby bird doesn't fall far from the nest."

"Well, it's not _real_." Gladys winks. "I've dialed it back a notch or two. And tonight is a celebration."

Betty cocks a brow and Gladys purses her lips around a smile.

After a moment, Betty nods, straight-faced. "Day one. You'd call it a success, then?"

Gladys comes around the table to pull out Betty's chair, dropping a kiss on her neck when she sits down and saying into her ear, "I think we can both call it a success." As Gladys sits down and shakes out her napkin, she watches Betty, who is watching her. She pours the bubbly, then sets the bottle down deliberately and leans forward on the table (actively betraying her etiquette lesssons).

"I'm happy, Betty. I don't know why this feels different, if it's our friendship or the… other thing. But I feel [free](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9214592/5/So-Close-to-Your-Cure) and I feel safe and I'm happy. You'll let me be, won't you?" Her voice is hushed and her question isn't much of one; if there's something Gladys has in spades, it's confidence, and she knows Betty's answer without a doubt.

Betty squeezes her smile down as small as it will go, looking at the table and fiddling with her fork. "I want you to be happy," she says softly.

Gladys smiles, satisfied, and reaches across the table to place her fingertips on the back of Betty's hand. "Then let's be it. And let's eat."

They remove the lids from their plates and Betty laughs when she sees roast beef and mash.

"It may not be the most natural pairing to a sweet sparkling white, but I thought we could both use a touch of home comfort."

Betty smiles across the table at Gladys, picking up her knife and fork. "This is lovely, Gladys. Thank you."

At the sound of her name from Betty's lips, Gladys stills for a moment. She finds her nickname endlessly endearing when it comes from Betty, but she knows Betty would only use her real name with good reason, and it makes her smile down at her plate

They eat in silence, slowly, enjoying the fancy hotel roast beef and the company; they don't need to talk but they do need to look at one another, often.

When they clean their plates, Gladys picks up the bottle and asks Betty to push the cart out into the hall. Betty stands tall and tosses her hair but she is secretly terrified that the hotel police are going to come take her away for doing something, anything wrong. She struggles with the door and then looks furtively up and down the corridor before shoving the cart out into the hall and closing the door as quickly as she possibly can.

Gladys watches amused from the centre of the room and then clambers onto the bed. With the bottle and her skirt and the width of the bed her actions are awkward, ungainly, because she thinks she's alone. Of course, Betty sees, and walks over to the bed saying, "I was wrong before."

Gladys sighs and cocks her head in good humour, waiting for the punchline.

"You're more like a baby deer than a baby bird."

Carefully now, Gladys sets herself up against the headboard, crossing her legs down the bed in front of her, rearranging her skirt, then holding up the bottle. "You're welcome to join me."

Betty goes around to the other side of the bed and climbs on, more like a puppy than a fawn.

Growing up, Betty was glad to share the same stocky build as her brothers. That's how they grow them on the prairies, and that's how she needed to be to keep up.

When she got older and started noticing other girls—not until she left the farm, really—she saw that they were slim and lithe where she was just slightly thicker. She longed for one of their bodies—a two-pronged desire, of course.

Now, sitting next to Gladys, she is reminded of that distinction. She's long since accepted that she can't change her body, but it was Teresa who showed her that maybe her body could be loved.

"What are you thinking about?" Gladys asks, eying her curiously from the other side of the bed, where Betty has yet to join her.

Betty sighs. "Honestly…" She gestures at Gladys. "Baby deer versus—" She gestures at herself. "This."

As soon as she does, Gladys looks, and her mind immediately goes to what she knows is under those clothes. She blushes and when she looks back at Betty, her eyes are a little hazy.

"Um." She brings herself back to the conversation at hand, breathes slowly, and thinks about Betty's comment. Crawling to within a few inches of Betty, Gladys sits back on her heels and balances on the bottle with one hand. She regards Betty's face seriously, because she can tell this is a serious matter.

"First of all, you are gorgeous, Betty McRae. Second, I like that our bodies are different. I don't necessarily want to get naked with another version of myself." When Gladys hears what she's said out loud, she makes a face, shaking her head once. "And third, trust me on this, you don't need to change a thing to be sexy. Why else would I be here? You don't need to look like anyone but you."

"Well, I'm sorry I even said anything," Betty mutters, face turned down and away so Gladys can't see it at all.

Laughing heartily, Gladys tugs on Betty's arm and swings her legs up over Betty's. "You need to learn to take a compliment."

"Easy for you to say, Princess," Betty says ruefully, turning back with her face still a warm shade of pink.

Gladys twists to face Betty head-on, still half in her lap, and says, "Let's practice."

Contorting her neck away and then back, seeing no escape, Betty grimaces.

"Relax, it's just me." Gladys holds Betty's face in place with two gentle hands. She maintains eye contact and says, "Betty McRae, you are beautiful." Betty's eyes drop and narrow and her mouth twists, trapped with the flattery. "Just say thank you," Gladys tells her soothingly.

Betty sighs but doesn't fight, saying "Thank… you?" as reluctantly as possible.

"Hmm," Gladys responds, drumming her fingers on Betty's cheeks in thought. Betty smiles at the sensation and scrunches her nose, and Gladys grins, saying, "Great, say it like that!"

"I don't think that's going to work, Princess."

"Well, what my mother always said was," Gladys turns up her nose and adopts a snooty tone. "The compliments aren't for _you_ , darling. Your job is to accept them gracefully so the speaker feels they have given you a gift. Really it is you who gives the gift." She snaps back to normal, smiles sweetly, and kisses Betty on the lips. "What that really means is that when I tell you you're beautiful, you don't have to believe it to accept it, because accepting it will mean making me very happy, and I _know_ you want to do that."

Betty brings her hands up to cover Gladys's, curling them around and lowering their joined hands to rest on Gladys's thigh. She looks affectionately at Gladys and says, "I can try. I can tell you now it isn't going to be easy."

"But it will get easier." Gladys smiles. "Because I'm going to keep saying it, and even when I don't say it, it'll be there in other ways. You will develop a tolerance."

"I don't suppose I have a say in this." Betty smiles wryly.

"Not at all. Friends alone compliment each other, let alone…"

"Friends with nakedness involved?"

"Yes, that. Speaking of…" Gladys cocks an eyebrow and folds her legs back under her, bringing the bottle of bubbly to her lips and taking a hearty swig before passing it to Betty and climbing back off the bed. Betty watches as Gladys walks around behind the closet door, and takes a gulp of her own from the bottle.

Gladys reappears in her slip and walks up to give Betty a kiss, tangling her fingers in the hair at the back of Betty's head as the latter cranes her neck to meet Gladys where she stands.

"Less clothing now, please," Gladys says, smiling.

As Gladys straightens, Betty takes just a moment to rest her cheek against Gladys's stomach. With Gladys's fingers in her hair and Betty's arms around Gladys's waist, Betty closes her eyes—for just a moment—and breathes.

Then she gets up and walks to the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

In the mirror she sees the same Betty, if a happy Betty. Her life has come in waves of good and bad lately, one right after the other. This good thing began with a bad thing, so maybe—maybe—she'll have a little time to enjoy it before the next wave comes.

She turns away from the mirror and undresses, draping her clothes over her arm to keep them from wrinkling. As Gladys immediately hung her dress in the closet, so Betty immediately finds a chair to lay her outfit on.

Only then does she turn to the bed, and the corner of her mouth lifts. Gladys is lying on her side in the middle of the bed, head resting on one folded arm. She looks peaceful, but when Betty approaches she rolls over and grins. It is astounding how lascivious the proper Miss Gladys Witham is capable of looking.

It is evening already but they make use of their time and the much, much larger bed. It's only now they realize how cramped they were in Betty's bed, muscles perpetually tensed in fear of flying over the edge. They have to remind their muscles to relax, fight flinches every time they roll over.

They realize they will have to adjust each time they alternate, the same way they'll have to adjust from closed doors to open. They joke that they'll be stronger from all the muscle tensing, as if their other activities aren't already doing plenty of that.

Gladys doesn't think of men when she's with Betty, but she does marvel sometimes at the things that are new to her. Mostly it is softness—Betty is so soft, every part of her, and while Gladys has spent her life using lotions and creams to make her own skin soft, she's never really been privy to the results. It is absurd, delirious, that a person's skin can feel this good against her own.

She marvels at the shape of Betty's body, something Betty isn't fond of but Gladys could spend days exploring. Every curve is divinely placed for her hands or mouth or tongue to shape to, when it isn't their curves that shape to one another. She's always loved being close to Betty—linking arms or holding hands or lying together in bed chatting—and this is not so different, just a hundred times better.

A lady glows, but Gladys takes pride in the sweat she sees on Betty's skin and feels on her own.

They lie across the bed, heads together and bodies sprawled in opposite directions, until Gladys starts to shiver (not very long, honestly). She sits up, reaches down to grab the comforter, and drags it up and over their bodies and heads in one motion. Almost immediately, their body heat starts to warm their little tent.

They lie close now and sticky, Gladys's mouth pressed to Betty's naked shoulder. The sheet provides a modicum of modesty as Betty lies on her back, the blanket a scant inch above her nose.

"Did you build forts?" Betty asks suddenly, turning her head in the dark.

Gladys waits a beat and then exhales, shaking her head against the pillow. "In that house? Could you imagine? Sometimes, when we were very brave, we would play tag between the trees that line the property. But one too many muddy footprints and, well, you've met my mother."

Betty takes a breath. "Was she always that way?"

For a moment Gladys looks off, thinks. "To a degree, yes. She always wanted to control things, and that kicked into overdrive when my brother died."

There's a pause. Betty doesn't talk about her parents; Gladys has only barely gleaned that Betty has brothers, and she doesn't want to press. Gladys herself doesn't speak of her brother, and they meet eyes in the dark so the silence becomes one of mutual understanding.

Betty squishes Gladys's head against her shoulder with one hand so she can kiss some part of her, then says, "We are gross. And according to my little tour… of the bathroom… you have a tub all to your very own."

Gladys looks up past her lashes and says, redundantly coy, "The privacy _is_ nice."

"As if you've ever in your life lived without privacy, Princess," Betty says, grinning. She opens her mouth, about to continue, but snaps it shut again.

"What?"

"I was going to make a joke, but then I realized… I have literally never had a private bathroom."

The look on Gladys's face confirms this is a tragedy as yet unforeseen.

"I went straight from the farm to the rooming house—you know it's ten to a floor." She looks far away. "I wonder if I'll ever…"

Gladys pushes up to look Betty in the face. "You will," she says firmly. "It won't be as long as you think." She presses her lips to Betty's but the latter mumbles "Groundless optimism," and Gladys frowns. "I know _you_. Those are my grounds."

There's a look that takes Betty's face now, one Gladys can't recall seeing before, and Betty brings one hand up behind Gladys's head so she can kiss her hard. Gladys puts all the sincerity of her belief in Betty into the kiss, and hopes it comes through.

The shivers don't take long to return and Gladys breaks the kiss to say, "Mm, if we don't bathe now we never will." She looks up through her lashes again. "Would you like to have your very own private bath?"

A slow smile spreads across Betty's face, and Gladys tips her head up to return it without a thought.

"I don't think now is the time for a private bath," Betty says, one corner of her mouth hooked higher yet.

Gladys nods seriously. "Reasonable conclusion."

Getting from the bed to the bath becomes a bit slapstick as neither particularly wishes to walk stark naked across the room but they're wrapped in one sheet. They must coordinate their movements and shuffle along, which results in more than one smooshed-together progress-paused makeout session. Considering they're planning to bathe together, it's a bit ridiculous they can't walk across a room without groping each other, but you know how it is when you're naked and wrapped in a sheet.

In the bathroom Gladys lets the sheet drop, crossing one arm over her chest as she bends to turn the hot water on. Betty hangs on to the sheet, leaning back against the vanity and watching as Gladys adds something to the water to make bubbles.

The room begins to fill with steam and perfume and Gladys turns to reach her hands out to Betty. She has a certain comfort in her body, not complete but still fed by the privilege of growing up rich and thin.

Betty starts to cross the room holding the sheet up around her and Gladys shakes her head. Betty stops and hesitates, then drops the sheet and her head at the same time.

Gladys has to cross to her instead, wrapping her arms around Betty's waist and pressing their bodies together. It's wanton and blatant and Betty blushes hard—all over.

Laying her cheek against Betty's, Gladys says into her ear, deliberately, "You. Are. Beautiful."

Betty sags slightly against her and says, after a moment, "Thank you," very softly.

Gladys leans back, grinning, and says, "Bath time."

The lower themselves in at either end and the heat sends a paradoxical shiver down Betty's spine, breaking her skin out in goose pimples. As the water covers her body, she closes her eyes and tries to remember the last time she had a bath this hot or this full. Maybe never.

She opens her eyes and returns Gladys's pleased smile as Betty gingerly stretches out her legs and Gladys rests hers on top. The bubbles return some of their lost modesty and Betty relaxes into the comfort.

"Your life, Princess, is beyond even my wildest imaginings."

Making a shocked face, Gladys finds one of Betty's feet under the water and wraps both her hands around it. "We're just going to have to broaden your horizons, then!"

Betty closes her eyes again, leaning her head back against the tub's edge. "I am not altogether opposed to that idea."

"No," Gladys murmurs. "I didn't think you would be."


	7. Chapter 7

Weeks go by; people talk, they always will, but mostly they see a grieving widow (or near enough) and a woman whose ex-beau just married her best friend. Anyone could be expected to have difficulty adjusting, and so two friends comfort each other; those who will take pity do, and those who won't are admonished, _Have a heart!_ If a small minority questions the propriety of two such friends sharing a bed—and _every night_ —they are hushed; not convinced, but silenced.

Of course, Mrs. Corbett doesn't abide gossip among her girls. Gladys, for her part, has retained her rich girl sense that all is well in the world unless something terrible happens before her very eyes. And Betty... Betty worries. She can't help it. She has no end of reason to, and so she does, although these days float along as in a dream. It isn't enough to stop her enjoying what there is to enjoy, so it hardly matters anyhow.

Of a Sunday, Gladys proposes a drive, and Betty agrees readily. They take an unusual route, but Betty pays no mind until they are slowing and then Gladys pulls to a stop on a street of houses bunched close together, trees overhanging the scene. From her comfortable slouch in the passenger seat, Betty slides to sit up straight, confused.

"What's this, princess?"

"Oh, nothing much at all," Gladys says, opening her door and stepping out of the car, forcing Betty to do the same; and over the roof of the car, "Just a little house I wanted to have a look at."

Skeptical, Betty trails Gladys up the path to the door. A woman in a bright floral sundress opens the door and ushers them inside, after which Gladys sweetly asks that they might have a few moments alone to get a feel for the house. Rich girl confidence wins again, and the real estate agent smiles and tells them she'll return in half an hour.

"Make yourselves at home," she says, and Betty makes a face at the wall.

Then they're alone, and Gladys starts to wander through the empty rooms—not many of them; looks like two above and three below, with a small powder room on the first and (Betty assumes) a full bath upstairs. Betty trails Gladys again, her curiosity pulling her along. Gladys drifts through the rooms, eyes wide, and grins at Betty before mounting the staircase to the second floor. One bedroom is large, the other small; the bathroom is quite narrrow but fully equipped.

In the master bedroom, Gladys stops by the window—taking up most of the rear wall, it looks over the back yard, a small square of land that is fenced but thoroughly overgrown—and takes a deep breath, before turning to Betty and saying, "Well?"

Betty joins her at the window; the view is underwhelming, but after more than one year (she's lost count) in a small, stuffy, closed-in room at the boarding house, it feels palatial. She feels the nip of beginning envy in her gut, but knows she'll likely be spending half her time here if Gladys moves anyway, and pushes it away.

She angles a half-smile Gladys's way and says, "When did you decide to look at houses?"

Gladys walks across the room to open the closet door, and says over her shoulder, "I simply can't stay in that hotel room any longer. They're not really designed for the long term, you know?" Satisfied with the closet, she moves to the centre of the room, studying each wall in turn. "It costs a fortune, anyway, and to what end? I can put my trust to better use as a down payment; the monthly payments are less than the hotel fees; I'm mostly paying for the maid service at this point, and..." She trails off.

"You can do that yourself?" Betty says, cheeky.

Gladys turns back to her and smirks, eyes sparkling. "You never know. If all else fails, there must be a maid service I can hire. People in small houses can't all be domestic goddesses."

Betty scoffs at, well, that whole sentence, really, but she's smiling now: seeing Gladys happy always does her heart so good.

At that, and reasonably satisfied with her inspection, Gladys walks over and wraps her arms around Betty's waist. Betty protests, half-heartedly, at their proximity to the window, but Gladys ignores her and rests her chin on Betty's shoulder.

"I had an idea," Gladys says, low, and Betty sighs and softens in her arms.

"Oh yeah?"

Gladys wraps one hand around one of Betty's and steps back, pulling Betty with her. They sit in the centre of the floor, legs crossed, knees touching, and Gladys keeps hold of Betty's hand.

"I know it's not perfect," she says, and her voice stays low; rich girl bravado won't serve her here and she knows it. "But I thought that, if you wanted, you could…" She hesitates, takes a deep breath, then says all in a rush: "move in here with me and pay the same rent you would at the rooming house and if you wanted your name on the deed we could do that too and this could be your home."

There's a long pause while Betty looks at their hands and Gladys can't tell if she's breathing. When she looks up, she says, "You mean, our home?" and Gladys's face breaks open in a way she can't control. She gathers Betty's hands into her lap, pulling her forward and trying to kiss her with the biggest grin on her mouth.

"Yeah," she says, laughing against Betty's lips. "Our home."

They hear the front door open then, and the agent's cheery voice calling, singing out, "Hello, I'm back!"

Gladys can hardly bring herself to let Betty go, can't for the life of her wipe the grin off her face. She can't look away from Betty, either, and if real estate agents were given to suspicion it would have been written all over their faces; but real estate agents sell houses, and theirs is very happy to sell one to such charming young women, gainfully employed (and rich). Gladys puts her name on a dotted line and the agent leaves them with the keys.

(They know, don't they, that the war must, inevitably, end? Those able-bodied men that remain will flood back into the country and into the jobs they left behind. And what of the jobs that didn't _exist_ before the war? It's impossible to believe of something so real, something so everyday, but the munitions factories will vanish—pop—as if they never existed, and women, proven so capable, proven strong, will return to their sovereign place: the home. Women too young will wait for husbands; women wed will wait to bear children; women fully realized will keep house and rear children and all will be as God has planned.

Do they know this? Now, in their euphoria, they simply wish for life to rise up to meet them. Life itself is briefly, ever so briefly, ignoring their existence. It won't last. It cannot last.)

The agent has left paper cups in the kitchen; Gladys fills one, hands it to Betty, fills another, and steps carefully up the stairs. In the master, the sun is beginning to set; they stand before the window and mime the clink of their glasses, drink. Betty watches the sky begin to light up with colour and Gladys watches the light dance in her eyes.

As she turns back to Gladys, Betty crushes the paper cone in her hand and says, "I feel as if I'm in a dream."

Tipping her head forward, a smile painted on her face with no will behind it, Gladys replies, "Me too."

They lie on the carpet in the centre of the room, staring at the ceiling and holding hands, talking about what they can do with a little house all their own. Betty doesn't own anything, really; but neither does Gladys. They speak, giggling, of stealing the bedroom set out of Gladys's room in her parents' house. Picturing sneaking into the house, possibly armed with friends, and then somehow sneaking out a king-size bed has them in fits of laughter. More seriously, Gladys says that she wouldn't want her own house to resemble the Estate in any way; Betty agrees.

As dusk falls, they get up again, peering over the backyards to the house behind, where one light nestles in darkness. They run, holding hands, to the front room; crouch at the window; peek up over the bottom sill to see the street, streetlights coming on one by one, cars wooshing slowly past, packs of girls making their way home along the city sidewalks.

They lie down on the floor in that room, watching the headlights come through the window and play over the walls and ceiling. Curling up on their sides, they face each other, legs intertwined and hands clasped together. It gets darker and darker and their eyes adjust; seeing the reflections of eyeballs, the highlight on the bridge of a nose, a flash when someone's tongue darts out to wet her lips.

Eventually they fall serenely into sleep; too happy now to consider the consequences, the conditions, the give and take that will be necessary for this to work. Instead they feel at rest—at home in a place they've only just seen for the first time. Together, they think, this is the beginning. A place they can be alone, together.

For now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but I am officially on fic writing hiatus as of tomorrow until December 3 so I wanted to leave you with a little something. There's plenty more to come.

When the next weekend rolls around, the house dolls up and steps out while Betty and Gladys hunker down in Betty's room. Gladys sits on the bed with a newspaper open and scissors in hand; Betty lies with her head on Gladys's thigh, another newspaper open and a thick black marker. They circle and snip advertisements for second-hand furniture, a record playing low and a happy daze of weekend calm heavy over them.

The fog breaks sharply, with a rap on the doorframe. The door hangs open, Betty and Gladys relaxed in the absence of housemates; Kate does not so much fill the doorway as cling to one side like a wrinkled handkerchief.

Both Gladys and Betty jump, Betty springing upright and tucking her legs under her. They look to each other, wide-eyed, then back to Kate. She steps gingerly forward, looking for hostility in their faces; but they are only curious, concerned.

"May I come in?" Kate says softly.

Gladys leaps up and gestures for Kate to take her seat, walking to the chair and moving it forward with the ease of domesticity. "Please, Kate," she says, and Betty straightens, plants her feet on the floor and moves aside, turning to face Kate and putting space between them at the same time.

Kate seats herself, spine straight, and stares into nothing. Gladys and Betty share another look, then Gladys leans forward, resting her forearms on her thighs.

"What's wrong, Katie? You aren't here on a social call." Unspoken, filling the room, is _You haven't been here on a social call in quite some months. In fact, you don't eat lunch with us anymore. You barely smile in passing. What is wrong? Please tell us._

"It's Ivan," she says lightly, a tone she has mastered while the blank expression on her face speaks to them of distance, denial. "He's taken my keys and locked the front door. You know how men are. Moody," and she smiles, a smile so frozen Gladys and Betty are both taken aback, horrified.

There's a pregnant pause, no one knowing what to say, and then Gladys says gently, "I think I'd better make some tea. Will you stay here for a moment, Katie?" When Kate nods, Gladys gives Betty a significant look and they both stand up, closing the room door softly behind them. In the kitchen, Gladys fills the kettle and Betty leans against the counter.

"We'll have to let her sleep here," Betty says.

"Yes," Gladys replies, turning on the stove and placing the kettle. Betty waits, expecting her to say more, but Gladys doesn't look away from the kettle. She's thinking, so Betty waits some more, watching her mildly. Finally, she says, "I think we'd better purchase two bed frames tomorrow."

"What? Gladys—" Mind churning, Betty's expression turns quickly from confusion to terror. "You can't mean—"

Gladys turns slowly, her expression perturbed. She is still thinking, but her eyes meet Betty's when she says, "We need to be prepared."

"But she can stay here—" Betty begins desperately.

"You know she can't," Gladys says, level and low.

Betty huffs out a breath, torment in her eyes, and Gladys steps forward to take her hands, looking deep into her eyes. "What else can we do? Betty?" She shakes her head and Gladys steps forward again, her hand going to the back of Betty's neck and her other arm wrapping tight around her back. Betty clutches at Gladys's sides and Gladys says, "I know, sweetheart. I know."

They stay together until a sound makes them both look up, and there is Kate again; now with a stricken look on her face.

"I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—" and she turns to leave, but Betty takes a quick, long stride and snags her elbow.

When Kate turns back, Betty puts her hands in her pockets, looks at the floor, shrugs sheepishly. "I made you a promise once," she says hesitantly. "We can help you, Kate. We have to help you."

Gladys comes forward then, slipping her hand through Betty's arm. "If you'll take it, that is," Gladys adds; her voice is gentle, but her message is clear.

Kate's eyes shift back and forth for a moment, and they're sharp and focused for the first time. A small smile struggles onto her face, wobbling, and she says, "You'll take me back?"

Betty reaches out her free hand, drawing Kate closer and saying, "We never left you, Kate. We were always right here."

Her smile is pained and she bobs her head, then slowly and cautiously moves forward to embrace them both. And for a moment, they cling together there, the three friends, and it seems like everything might be okay after all.


End file.
